The Price We Pay
by scully1138
Summary: AU Fiction. Root has taken Finch again, and John is losing it. What will the consequences be? Chapter two is now up. Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest or its characters.
1. John

The Price We Pay

John floored the car and sped into the darkness. He was driving dangerously, and was dangerously beyond caring. In less than twenty four hours he had become a very desperate man.

The day before, he and Finch had wrapped a most satisfying case. They had saved the life of a single mother, which in turn prevented her three young children from entering the foster care system. In short, they had saved a family. They were still basking in that success, and Harold suggested dinner at a small Italian restaurant he favored. It was clear that the owners recognized him - and Bear also - as they warmly welcomed the large dog into their small establishment. The conversation was easy, the food was excellent, and John was pleasantly surprised that Harold did not rush off after their meal. He didn't dwell on it, but John was aware that his partner had become essential to his well-being. The other man was his _touchstone_. Harold kept him grounded, provided a context for his life. And somewhere along the line, they had become friends as well. It had been a slow process, but tonight the sense of camaraderie between them was undeniable. They lingered until closing time.

They were only a block from the restaurant when John felt ill, very ill, and his legs began to give out beneath him. He turned towards Harold and saw his friend reaching for him in alarm. He was out before he hit the ground.

.

He woke to the sound of Bear's soft whine. His head was pounding, and he didn't know if it was from the drugs or from hitting the pavement. He drew a shaky breath. He knew that Harold was gone before he opened his eyes. John felt sick again. Root, it had to be Root. A sudden burst of rage helped clear his head. Bear whimpered. The dog was bleeding from a bullet wound in his thigh, but it didn't appear to be a mortal wound. Functioning mostly on instinct, John gathered him up and drove to a pre-arranged veterinary hospital. Harold's money paid for a lot of discretion, and they had this contingency in place should Bear ever need it.

When he knew that Bear would survive and was being well cared for, he returned to the library.

John was accustomed to being in control of his emotions. During his time with the CIA he was detached - from his work and from his life. He had done many horrific things calmly and dispassionately. And he had entered a void from which there should have been no returning. But gradually, with Harold and this job, he was recovering himself. Every life saved felt like it erased a little of the blackness the CIA had left on his soul.

But as the reality of what had happened settled over him, he felt a rage unlike anything he had ever experienced. He understood too well what was at stake. Harold's life - so much more important than his own - and the lives of the irrelevants, the security of the Machine.

And - he might as well admit it - he was furious that his own life was being torn apart yet again. Harold was his first friend in a very long time. He was the one person John _trusted. _And he was the steady and stable focal point of a new life that was increasingly pleasant and rewarding. To have the man ripped away and placed in jeopardy once again was consuming him.

The depth of his wrath was new to him, and frightening.

The machine gave him a number, but its significance remained just out of reach. Without Finch there to help him make the connections, and with his own mind clouded by anger, he was unable to put it all together.

His guilt was undoing him.

Many lives had been saved since he began working with Finch. But it was never far from John's mind that the first life Harold saved had been John's own. Root blindsided them before, but now they _knew_ she was out there. After he recovered Harold the first time, John made it his personal mission to make sure the woman never got near his partner again. They understood how fortunate they were that Harold had escaped with so little physical harm. Even so, the older man had been thoroughly shaken by the event, much more than he tried to let on. And the thought of what he might be suffering now was tearing John apart.

Then Carter called. She had used all of her considerable resources with the FBI and had a lead for him. "It's a long shot, John. Try to remember that."

He drove the car wildly to the isolated, rural area. He was unraveling and he knew it. He felt unstable to his very core. And he knew exactly what (who) he needed to put everything right again.

He ditched the car and quietly approached the small, secluded house by foot. And as John burst through the door, his mind registered the only thing that mattered. Harold was there and alive.

There had been no _choice_, no point when he _decided_ to kill her. Something else had taken over, something primal - the need to protect his friend, to protect what was _his_, and to ensure their survival with his last breath.

Even the brilliant Root was no match for a bullet in the head.

The relief and adrenaline coursing through him brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to look at Harold and let him know, _"We're okay. We're all right, now."_

He looked at his friend and realized that Harold was staring at him fearfully, as if John were a stranger to him.

.

FIN

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A/N: There is a song by James Durbin called "Everything Burns", and the chorus perfectly describes what I think John's state of mind would be during these hours. And I have a confession. Having John put a bullet in Root's head has been a little fantasy of mine for a while now. Whatever that says about me. We know that Mr. Finch would never approve. I've been working on Harold's POV at the same time, so chapter 2 will be up very soon. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.


	2. Harold

The Price We Pay, part 2

Dinner was his idea. Reuniting a young mother with her children had been supremely satisfying. The lives they were saving, the _good_ they were doing never felt more tangible, and Harold had been in the mood to celebrate. His crazy crusade with the irrelevant numbers was actually working. The tiny restaurant was one of his _private_ places, but last night he found himself wanting to share it with John. His relationship with his partner was something else that was working. Trust was difficult for him, but lately Harold had been tempted to lower his walls around the younger man. Even more surprising, he was yielding to that impulse. It was a warm, unguarded evening, and he had enjoyed the sense of fellowship between them.

He felt a sudden, sad twinge, and wondered if John was even still alive. He had no idea if Root's poison had killed him or only incapacitated him, and he realized that he may never know.

They were only a block from the restaurant when John stopped short, his tall frame wavering precariously. He turned sheet white and collapsed with shocking quickness, before Harold could reach him. He was still kneeling over John, when Bear snarled and pressed himself against Harold's side, barking ferociously. Harold sensed someone behind him, and the dog's barks became deafening. Even after the bullet hit his flank, Bear continued his furious uproar. In the din and utter chaos, a familiar figure approached and calmly tased the dog into silence. Then she turned the gun on him and smiled. He felt his entire body go cold. "So nice to see you again, Harold," she said as she jammed the syringe into his neck.

Drugged and in shock, he looked back helplessly at the unmoving bodies of John and Bear as she drove him away.

He tried to focus, and fight off the effects of the sedative. He was in big trouble here. But everything he had done with the Machine and with the numbers, everything leading to this moment, had been worth it. For so long, the pictures of all the people he couldn't save - the ones before John – had haunted him. They always would. But now he also had a gallery of new faces, the faces of people still living and breathing because of their work. So many precious lives saved. The thought always brought him satisfaction, and now it brought him solace as well.

At first he thought he might be able to reason with Root. She could have easily killed Bear but hadn't. Harold hoped that was a sign she still had a glimmer of decency left that he could prevail upon. But he quickly abandoned that notion. The first time she had taken him, she was still under the illusion that they could be partners, friends even. She made it clear to him now that she had given up that idea, and planned to get her information by less _amicable _means. He couldn't pretend not to be afraid. But he would never provoke Root into taking an innocent life if he could prevent it.

She mostly left him alone during the day while she finished her arrangements. He knew that she planned to move him tonight. And that would be that. She wouldn't make the same mistakes again. Even if John was alive, there would be no trail for him to follow this time.

If this was indeed the end, he would take with him something else that brought him deep and abiding satisfaction - the salvation of John Reese. When he first recruited the younger man, Harold had gambled on what he perceived to be John's inner strength and character. And as much as he appreciated his partner's skills in the field, Harold had come to admire and respect his qualities as a _man_ even more. He quietly watched as his friend made his way out of the shadows, as he slowly put himself back together. John had come back to life before his very eyes. And that _he_ was part of that process gave Harold more pleasure than he ever let on. During their time together, many lives had been saved, all worthwhile, all equally valuable. It's just that the saved life that made him _happiest_ belonged to John Reese.

Root was back in the room, waving another syringe. "Time to go, Harold."

It was over in an instant and yet it appeared to happen in slow motion. He watched - not comprehending at first - as his friend stormed the room and fired a bullet into Root's head. John had executed the woman in cold blood, right in front of him. It violated every law of human decency and every principle that Harold believed in.

"_John!_"

He didn't try to keep the shock out of his voice or off of his face. And he couldn't let in the relief and gratitude he knew he should be feeling. He was utterly stunned and appalled by what he just witnessed. He stared at his friend in disbelief.

John's hands were trembling as he cut off the restraints on Harold's wrists and ankles, and Harold felt his body tense at the other man's touch.

The John Reese who burst through the door was not the man he had come to know during these past months. This was a man from long ago - the CIA assassin who had grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against a wall with terrifying, unbridled fury. Harold had never expected to see that man again, and he was frightened.

John seemed to be coming out of whatever state had possessed him. But even as his eyes began to focus on the body in front of him, and the full impact of what he had done seemed to settle over him, he said simply,

"I would do it again, Harold. I would do it again."

Harold understood. A wave of compassion washed over him. Even John Reese had a weakness, and that weakness was Harold himself.

The fact that a woman - even such an evil woman - lay dead for his sake was not the outcome he would have chosen. And he ached that John had relinquished some of his hard-won humanity, and that he had done so for _him_. He felt John's eyes searching his face for some sign of hope, some sign of understanding. There were many thoughts going through Harold's mind, but only one thing he wanted to say.

"Let's go home, Mr. Reese."

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FIN

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A/N: Of course, Harold forgives John! But they will always be two very different men, and I wanted to bring those differences into conflict. And I wanted to kill Root. Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews and comments, and everyone who favorited and followed the story. It's appreciated more than you know!


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